


Singularity?

by Aegrota



Series: A Singular Delight [1]
Category: EXO (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Barebacking, Break Up, Cowgirl Position, Cunnilingus, Dancing, F/M, Hickeys, Inspired by an interview, Kim Taehyung | V Has a Big Dick, Making Out, Missionary Position, Night Clubs, One Night Stands, Post-Break Up, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aegrota/pseuds/Aegrota
Summary: Everything reminds you of Baekhyun.You need to get over him. Taehyung also reminds you of Baekhyun. But maybe it will work.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Reader, Byun Baekhyun/You, Kim Taehyung | V/Reader, Kim Taehyung | V/You
Series: A Singular Delight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093532
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Singularity?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! 
> 
> So, I was watching some BTS interviews, and in one that I assume is from the beginning of their career, the interviewer said that he saw V's picture and a part of his face was covered, and at a glance, he reminded him of either TOP from Big Bang, or Baekhyun from EXO, the latter comparison earning happy cheers all around.   
> While I personally don't see the similarity with TOP (but I understand it could have just been that one picture), I definitely do see the similarity with Baekhyun back when V was younger, not so much anymore (even though it's pretty rude to compare someone to someone else, even if it's meant as a compliment) so that little exchange inspired this fic, that was mostly a two-way challenge to myself: write a full story in 2nd person POV, and write strangers meeting and just having sex, both those things new to me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this and I fully do intend to write the same type of story, but with Taehyung being the ex and Baekhyun being the sexy stranger meant to fuck the thoughts of the ex out ^^

It’s been three months since you and Baekhyun broke up.    
Three months of wallowing in self-pity, the arrow of the mouse hovering over the folder with all your pictures in it as you try to steel your nerves to just delete it.    
All you managed to accomplish is first renaming it “Mistake’, then placing it in your Recycle Bin, then restoring it, and then, after a night of wine, ice cream, and Sandra Bullock, looking through it and crying yourself to sleep.    
  
That seemed to be the theme. Crying yourself to sleep.    
Or just crying in general. You cried packing up all the stuff of his that remained at your place into a box and shoving it in the back of your closet.    
His black turtleneck sweater that you loved to borrow so much he once “forgot” it at your place and left it there.    
An almost empty bottle of his cologne, woody and mild. A large chunk of it was spent over these three months, even though the fragrance made you cry now.    
The CDs he left at your place, with songs the two of you used to dance to.    
His gray beanie that now seemed to mock you as the spring was already nearing its end.    
One of his chargers.    
Various other articles of clothing, one of which was a button-down shirt you bought for him the first Valentine’s Day you spent together.    
  
And then, there were his gifts to you that all made their way into the box, as well.    
A silver necklace with his and your initials on it.    
Mugs. Stuffed animals. Books. CDs. All the things that were in no way special, the things every boyfriend buys for his girlfriend.   
And that one CD that  _ was  _ special.    
That one CD, with one song, the one he wrote, produced and performed for you.    
It still just made you bawl, but the first tendrils of anger have started to emerge whenever you thought of it.    
That fucking liar.    
How could he have lied to you so convincingly, written all those soulful words, performed them with so much emotion?   
You really believed him when he told you he loved you.    
  
Drinking coffee out of another mug instead of the one he had given you was weird, even though you had been using that mug before Baekhyun.    
It sat oddly in your hand at first.   
Now, the habit was almost formed, and you hoped this, however minor little thing, meant that life goes on without him. 

You counted days you spent without crying like a recovering addict counts the days of sobriety. And you hated yourself for coming up with that analogy.    
  
Perhaps it was stupid to expect yourself to be getting better after three months when Baekhyun had been a part of your life for three years.    
You had fallen in love with him the moment you first saw him, behind the counter at a record shop. His eyes sparkled, he flashed you a smile, and you were a goner.    
  
Baekhyun always knew what to say. He was charismatic and magnetic to an insane degree. You were under his spell so fast that you even surprised yourself.    
All of it was a whirlwind of emotions, the first dates, the first kiss, the first night together… all those firsts happened quickly, and you thought you were in heaven back then.    
  
Only for heaven to come crashing down on your head three months ago.    
Baekhyun was finally getting his big break with his music. He was becoming famous, and he apparently decided that there was no room for you in his life anymore.    
You felt like a tissue, used and discarded. Like you were good enough for him when he was a nobody like you, but he now deserved better. Someone more beautiful, someone who knew what an arpeggio was, someone rich… just someone who was not you.   
He tried to tell you that is not what he meant, but you didn’t want to hear anything he had to say, fearing it would hurt you further.    
  
You rejected the couple of calls he tried to make, and he gave up after a few days. That hurt.    
There you were, your heart feeling like it would explode, and he was probably having the time of his life, enjoying his freedom from his plain Jane anonymous girlfriend.    
  
It already began. You would see his face on advertisements. You would hear his voice on the radio. You hated it. It’s like everything in your life decided to keep reminding you of him.    
But, you have always been a stubborn person. And, after these three months of not being able to escape being reminded of Baekhyun wherever you went, you decided to start distracting yourself.    
  
This is how you ended up at this night club that was definitely too expensive for you on a normal evening, but nothing in your life was normal anymore, so why not spend obscene amounts of money on diluted pink drinks and wear the fancy heels you bought on a whim two years ago and never had anywhere to wear.    
Fuck it. This is supposed to be a fun night.    
  
You spent hours getting ready. It’s been a very long time since you had dolled up to this extent. You had your hair and nails done. Your legs were perfectly smooth and moisturized, exposed in a short backless silver dress you were wearing. Your makeup glowy and looking deceptively light, but your under eyes needed a lot of help that only heavy-duty concealer could provide.    
Even as miserable as you were, when you saw yourself in the mirror, you smiled. You remembered the woman that looked back at you. That woman was beautiful and confident. That woman smiled and she was carefree.    
You were determined to be that woman, and only that woman, for the night.    
  
The first drink you order doesn’t taste as sweet as you would like, but you’re aware that is probably because you’re thinking about its price.    
The music blaring from the speakers has a heavy beat and catchy vocals and you’re soon out on the dancefloor, the heels worth every penny as they’re way more comfortable than any cheap pair you own. Men look at you, smile at you, dance with you, and it feels good tonight.    
  
You’re giggling as you make your way back to grab another pink drink when you freeze dead in your tracks.    
There is a man at the bar.    
  
You know he’s not Baekhyun (although had you had more to drink, you wouldn’t be able to tell at a glance), but he looks like him.    
His hair is darker and longer, and he appears taller, but he has the same chiseled cheekbones, the same tall nose, similarly shapely red lips, even a similar sense of style.    
Your mouth forms a thin line as you squeeze your purse.    
One night. That was all you asked for. Just one night of not being reminded of Baekhyun. Why couldn’t this man have gone to a different club tonight?    
  
Maybe you need something stronger than the pink drink this time around.    
  
You feel his gaze on you even a couple of meters away as you wait for the bartender to give you your order.    
You know what is about to happen.    
You’re sober enough to know, and you’re sober enough to know you want to avoid it.    
But, maybe you’re a masochist. Maybe you think that if all this avoidance of everything Baekhyun yielded no fruit, maybe exposure therapy to everything related to Baekhyun would.    
Maybe you just still think Baekhyun is the most handsome man in the world and maybe you still want to kiss him and feel him inside you.    
  
Maybe it’s an odd combination of all those maybes or some entirely different maybes.    
But when the stranger approaches, you don’t make a move to run away.    
He smiles at you and his smile is different, everything looking boxier, his chin shorter and apples of his cheeks less prominent. It’s still similar, and you can’t place your finger on it, but he definitely looks like the next best thing.    
  
“Hello. My name is Taehyung. Can I buy you a drink?”    
  
You do your best to smile back as you nod and give him your name in return.    
  
He pays for your drink and orders himself the same one.   
Then he’s back to looking at you. His gaze is intense, especially with the blue contacts he is wearing, and your mind wanders into the inappropriate territory, wondering (with no small dose of cringe) what Taehyung would look like staring at you as you ride his cock.    
You smile at him again to hide your embarrassment. He smiles back.    
  
“I love your hair.” He says simply and it sounds sincere, the way he looks like he wants to touch it, but doesn’t make a move to.    
  
“Thank you. Yours is not half-bad, either.”    
  
“Really?” His nose scrunches slightly as he adjusts his bangs, dark and wavy and almost falling into his eyes. They make him almost look like a puppy.    
He’s cuter than Baekhyun, you think.    
Maybe it’s nothing physical, but his disposition gives you the impression of shyness, of something mellow and simple. Things that Baekhyun all sorely lacks.    
  
“Yeah, really. It suits you really well.”    
  
His boxy grin emerges again at that.    
A few seconds of silence follow. You half-expected some pick-up lines or some chatty approach, but Taehyung seems content just sipping on his drink next to you and smiling.    
A shy type, then?   
Maybe not everything tonight will remind you of Baekhyun.    
  
“Are you here with some friends, Taehyung?”    
  
“Oh, yeah.” He seems to remember as you ask him and looks briefly around, but soon gives up and just vaguely gestures toward the dancefloor:    
  
“They’re probably over there.”    
  
You giggle, not knowing why. Perhaps it’s the way he says it, with a blank face, or perhaps it’s the alcohol finally taking its hold of you:   
  
“Dancing? And you? Do you dance?” 

  
His back straightens and he flashes you a more confident smile this time around:    
  
“I do. But I prefer dancing with beautiful girls.”    
  
And just like that, you’re taking his offered hand and he’s taking you to the dancefloor.    
He’s good. More than good. He’s great.    
When you and Baekhyun danced, Baekhyun always undoubtedly led. He joked that he was doing all the hard work and you could just shine.    
Now you thought he was just showing off because he was a great dancer and he had a pretty girl to dance with.    
  
Taehyung is different. He doesn’t seem to care about anyone else on the floor around you, his pretty eyes focused on you and his body molding seamlessly to yours. With your heels on, you two are almost the same height and as your hand slides up his clothed bicep, he melts into you, the beat of the music carrying the both of you in sync as it drums away in your chest.    
  
You like this. This is what dancing is supposed to feel like, surrendering to the music and not trying to rein it in or mold it to your performance.    
Taehyung is deceptively muscular under his loose clothing, you discover. His hands are warm and large and they feel nice on your exposed back. You like the shift of his muscles against your body as the two of you roll to the music. You like his scent, mild and unassuming, yet intoxicating in its simplicity. You like his warm body pressed against you from behind, one arm securely wrapped around your middle, fingers of the other hand tracing your shoulder and collar bone. You like everything he’s giving you tonight. Except for the fact that he’s not giving you more.    
  
So, you roll your hips, letting your plump ass brush against his crotch. It is a clear invitation, and you feel, more than hear, his hot, breathy chuckle as he leans into your ear. It’s too loud for him to be whispering, but his baritone still caresses your insides like he did whisper:    
  
“That’s dangerous.”    
  
He still rolls his hips right against you and pulls you even closer, and you begin to feel him hardening between your cheeks:    
  
“I like flirting with danger.” It’s a dumb response, but adrenaline and alcohol are coursing through your veins and you nearly yelp when his tongue runs in a smooth line up your neck and toward your earlobe:    
  
“I’m hoping you won’t just stop at flirting.”    
  
You turn your head to face him, the two of you still swaying to the music, his arm keeping you steady in case your knees buckle when you remind yourself just what whirlwind of conflicting emotions his almost-familiar visage stirs in you:   
  
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”    
  
His grin is lazy this time around, brows wiggling playfully, and it takes only a minute flex of his arm for you to turn to face him, his hand sliding up your spine and into your thick hair, his sweet breath fanning over your lips. And then he’s kissing you.    
  
His lips are soft, plush, fuller than the only lips you remember ever kissing, and he explores with that same air of careful manliness, coaxing and almost teasing instead of overpowering.   
The nips he gives you are light, only a hint of teeth, his long tongue leisurely sliding against the seam of your mouth until you part it for him and his hands travel over your body in unhurried abstract patterns. You feel their warm, gentle touch against your upper arms, you feel a tingle between your legs when those same hands are large enough to almost completely encircle your waist, you moan quietly as his hand cups your cheek, and all the while, the perfect push and pull your bodies create as they sway to the music is uninterrupted.    
  
It’s like Taehyung could dance in his sleep.    
His lips glisten with your lip gloss as he gives you half-lidded bedroom eyes when you part, only to tilt your chin up and expose your neck. Your fingers wind in his hair and you close your eyes, half-aware you’re shamelessly grinding into him as he kisses your neck.   
His hair is almost impossibly soft and fluffy, silky to the touch and his breath is scorching you, every move of his lips against your neck sending electric shivers straight to your pussy.    
  
You’re dancing in a strange limbo with him now, everything he’s doing so new and unfamiliar, yet so similar to what you’re used to and craving.    
His hands cup your ass and you moan, gripping his hair tighter when you feel his hot, long hardness against your core. You throb for him, nails futilely scratching against his back over his shirt.   
  
The moment seems to last an eternity. You’re lost in teasing, wet kisses, in the scent of lavender, in the feeling of his hot, firm body pressed snugly against you, and when you lift a leg, wrap it around his and brush your shins together, you feel his mouth curve into a smirk against the pulsing artery in your neck and then he’s hoarsely murmuring in your ear, his voice deep and rich. It makes you shudder:    
  
“Do you really want to keep going here?”    
  
The beat is in sync with your heartbeat as you lazily open your eyes and before you know it, you’re taking his hand and guiding him out of the club.    
  
  
You never stopped to think about what you were doing, because thinking would chase away this pleasant pink haze of alcohol and desire, the slight blur of Taehyung’s features that has you unsure of whom you’re really going home with.    
So, you don’t think about anything as the two of you are kissing on the backseat of the taxi, his big hand cupping your knee and rubbing your thigh. Your flesh is heated and you gasp into his mouth every time his fingertips brush near the apex of your thighs, the soft, inner part that is damp with the arousal that’s soaked through your black lace panties.    
You’re moments away from flinging that leg over him and straddling his lap, wanting to ride him right then and there and the soft chuckles interspersed with snarls he’s giving you as you brush your fingers against his bulge don’t help in the slightest.    
  
His voice might be the sexiest thing about him.    
It also makes you unsure about who you’re kissing in the pink haze.    
  
The two of you stumble into your apartment, lips still locked, without turning any lights on, the subtle glow of the fairy lights in your bedroom enough for the both of you. There is a distinct feeling of at the same time knowing exactly what to do and the excitement of unwrapping a new toy alike to a Christmas morning coursing through you and you like it.    
  
You moan embarrassingly loud when Taehyung grabs the sweet spot where your thighs meet your ass and lifts you against the front door, pressing himself into you. Your short dress is now bunched around your hips and a throaty whine leaves you when you feel his hardness through your ruined underwear.    
  
He locks eyes with you, nose almost brushing against yours, his pretty mouth parted, all red and swollen from kissing. Your own eyes are half-lidded and it is Baekhyun you see staring at you like he is about to devour you.    
Except this Baekhyun is stronger than he ever was and your legs are around his small waist.    
  
You like this Baekhyun.    
You feel like you’re going to go crazy unless he fucks you right this instant.    
  
You must have said that aloud because he chuckles, the grind of his hips slowing down to sheer torture:    
  
“You’re lucky I’m a good boy who loves fulfilling wishes.”    
  
You giggle as you’re being carried to your bed. Baekhyun has never been a good boy before.    
  
You’re lowered onto your mattress with a slight grunt from him as he puts effort into not harshly dropping you. Fearing he might pull away, you grab at the front of his shirt and pull him in for another wet, sloppy kiss that makes you drip onto your sheets.    
Fingers fumbling with buttons as you’re being distracted by the two of you rolling into each other like you’re still on the dance floor, he is finally able to shrug his shirt off and you bite your lip, admiring his physique. He is broad-shouldered, his arms thick and strong, and you wish to run your tongue over his defined abs.    
He’s never looked this good before.    
  


You’re so taken with absorbing his beauty that you don’t even notice him lifting one of your legs against his chest until he’s kissing and nipping from ankle to knee, tongue warming you up to boiling before the wet trail is left to the mercy of the cool air in your bedroom.    
  
“You’re gorgeous.” He murmurs as a deft hand runs against the back of your thigh and grabs your ass, kneading and spreading the cheek until you whimper.    
  
“Really? What are you going to do about it?”    
  
You try to tease, but neither of you misses just how breathy and fucked out your voice sounds and he chuckles again, easily sliding your panties off of you and tossing them aside:    
  
“Let me show you.”    
  
His mouth feels like heaven on your clit and you toss your head back into the pillows, forgetting the world.    
  
And fuck, if you thought his dancing skills were superb, his head game is out of this world, complete with unabashed soft groans of pleasure and slurping your wetness like it was the sweetest nectar.    
  
The faintest hint of stubble only adds to your bliss as you grip the sheets and feel like he’s all over you. It’s wet, it’s sloppy, it’s heaven that is not concerned with appearances, only pleasure pulsing through your veins and leaving your mouth in a series of moans and whines.   
You like him this ravenous. It’s new and it’s so good he has you plummeting toward what you hope is only your first release of several that night, in minutes.    
  
You glance down at him, your chest heaving, nipples poking through the fabric of your dress and you see him on his knees between your legs, your thighs on his shoulders and his hand on his crotch as he tongue-fucks you.    
  
Only faintly aware of what you’re doing, you try to tug him up, to kiss you, to get that hard cock in you already. You end up pulling his hair and he moans, wet mouth splitting into a grin as his cheeks dust pink.    
  
“Fuck me. Now.”    
  
You’re past begging and he, like a real good boy, obeys, undressing in a blur, slick grin and messy hair soon back in your face as he helps you out of your dress as well.    
He’s long and thick and so hot, brushing between your dripping pussy lips, deft fingers teasing a nipple as you coax more kisses out of him, kisses he’s more than eager to provide.    
He tastes like pink drinks and you. It only makes you hotter for him.    
  
It might be the haze, or the alcohol, or the fact that you’re still not quite sure whom you’re fucking, even with all the differences, but you greedily swallow him bare, and the groan of protest bubbling in his throat dies out in a broken moan when he pulses in your tight heat.    
  
“Fffuck…” He snarls in your ear and it makes you clench harder, hike your legs around him higher, wrap your arms around his neck, hoping he gets the hint.    
  
Thankfully, he is in tune enough with you that he does, an arm securely around your back pulling you halfway up and to him, his knees on the mattress, as he starts moving. It’s slow, teasing at first, the way he tries to pull almost all the way out before sliding back in, and the stretch his size is giving you makes your eyes roll back.    
  
You can’t remember ever feeling this good before.    
You’re arching into him, incoherent moans spilling from your lips before he claims them again, leaning on one forearm next to your head.    
  
The wet, sloppy sound of kisses and your wet pussy fill the room, your nails raking along his back, your hands guiding him where you want him by his hair, and the way he moans and groans at that has you climbing to your summit hard and fast. His fingertips have sunk so deep in the flesh of your ass that you’re sure he’ll leave a mark, pulling you onto his length as he is.    
  
And then he’s flipping you, all boxy grin and heaving chest adorned in red blotches of arousal, throbbing in you as he doesn’t slip out for a moment.    
  
“Ride me.” He implores breathily, his artificially icy eyes flitting between your face and your breasts. Even as turned on as you feel, you giggle, slowly rolling your hips, his cock filling you in the most delicious way imaginable:   
  
“You’re lucky I’m a good girl who likes fulfilling wishes.”    
  
It takes him a moment or two to understand you’re repeating his words and it makes your pussy clench to realize he’s too turned on to think straight.    
  
“You  _ are  _ a good girl. A very, very good girl…”    
  
His hoarse groan dilutes into a whisper as he thrusts up slowly and you indulge him, savoring the way he stretches and fills you even better at this angle.    
  
His knees are bent, spread wide apart, and you grab them for leverage, your back straight as you establish a slow rhythm, the way he licks his lips admiring your gently bouncing breasts making you feel…    
  
Beautiful.

That’s it.    
Everything he is doing tonight is making you feel beautiful, desirable, irresistible, and you’ve longed to feel that way for such a long time.    
Longer than three months, you realize.    
You can’t remember the last time you were fucked like this, unabashedly, earnestly, nothing but an ocean of desire and passion in a dimly lit room, your heels still on.   
  
You level your gaze back with his and you’re vaguely aware that you’re smiling as you grind your pelvis against his, his neatly trimmed pubic hair against your clit.    
  
“You’re so hot.”    
  
It’s you whispering the compliment this time around and he grins around a moan, throbbing inside you, his hands firmly on your buttocks again:   
  
“Look who’s talking. You’ve barely started riding me and I’m already close.”    
  
His honesty is refreshing and strokes your ego as you fold your body over his to start kissing his neck, your rhythm changing to a faster one. He rewards you with a groan as he happily throws his head back and starts thrusting in sync with you.    
  
“Can you hold off until I cum, at least?” You tease, nipping at his skin, tasting like salt and strawberries, and making your head swim.    
  
“You’re making it hard, baby girl.”    
  
The all-too-familiar pet name goes straight to your crotch and your chest and you snarl in warning to the latter, telling it to back off. Just for a little while longer. You deserve to enjoy this.    
And enjoy it you do, his big, throbbing heat coaxing rivulets of wetness from you, to slide down his balls, his groans in your ear making the wave in you higher and higher…    
  
He pulls you in for a kiss by your nape, a firm fist in your hair, and it’s his almost pained growl of desperate self-control that makes you fall apart, your clenched eyes watering as you ride one of the strongest orgasms you remember having out on his dick.    
  
You’re still pulsing in aftershocks when he flips you onto your back again and you can barely open your eyes to observe his face as he hovers above you on his knees once again, coating your torso in his warm cum.    
You moan feebly at the feeling. His mouth is parted in a snarl, muscles in his arms tense, chest heaving, and your lids flutter closed and you giggle as you stop counting his spurts after four.    
Warmth seems to be coating your skin over and over again and when you hear a huge sigh from him as he releases his tension, your giggle bubbles up to a full laugh, his own throaty one joining you.    
  
“Why are you laughing?” He asks, even as he’s laughing with you and it only makes you laugh harder, almost hiccupping:    
  
“That was an impressive load.”    
  
“Do you always laugh at a guy when he impresses you?” He teases and it reminds you that he doesn’t know you. Your laughter peters out:    
  
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m just laughing. In delight.”    
  
“Oh. In that case, I might want to impress you more. You’re cute when you laugh.” He sounds pleased as he shifts around on the bed:    
  
“Bathroom?”    
  
You tiredly point at a door behind him:    
  
“The washcloths are on the bottom shelf of the left cabinet. I’d be eternally grateful if you could take care of this, also.”   
  
You gesture at your torso, the cum starting to cool down. Taehyung chuckles:    
  
“Sure. I made that mess, anyway. It’s only fair I clean it up.”    
  
Your brain is still swimming in post-orgasmic bliss and you’re still tipsy enough that the sadness hasn’t taken a hold of you yet, so you’re still smiling when Taehyung returns and gently cleans you up. Once he’s done with that, you notice that he appears restless.    
  
“Something wrong?”    
  
He blushes at your question, having hunted down his boxers and put them on:   
  
“You might not believe me, but I normally don’t do things like this.”    
  
“Neither do I.”   
  
You watch him with bated breath, realizing that you want to see whether he will keep dressing and leave. But he sits on the bed and gently takes your shoes off, placing them quietly on the floor:   
  
“I was wondering, though. Do you maybe want to cuddle for a little bit?”    
  
He’s not looking at you and you can’t tell what he’s thinking.    
Of course, you can’t be sure, but Taehyung doesn’t seem like a bad guy. Maybe he’s just being considerate.    
  
“You don’t have to do that if you’d rather leave.”    
  
He’s silent for a moment and then he’s rubbing the back of his neck, quietly laughing in embarrassment:   
  
“No, I wanna cuddle. I just thought it might be weird asking.”    
  
Maybe it is. Maybe him staying and cuddling with you like someone far more intimate than a one-night-stand is a bad idea. You still shift and pull him into an embrace.    
  
His lavender and chamomile mixed with fresh sweat is something you didn’t know you would love as much as you now do. His warmth is reassuring, comfortable, safe. The warmth of an embrace in your bed is something you knew you needed, and sorely missed, but you didn’t know just how much until you got it. He’s caressing your back under the warm covers, his cheek and lips brushing against your crown, and you entwine your legs as if not wanting to let him go.    
And maybe you don’t.    
  
It’s unfair, but he’s giving you what you need right now, and you decide you want to keep it at least until you fall asleep.    
  
“Good night, handsome.” You whisper, making sure he won’t pull back with a slight dip of your fingertips into the skin of his back. You deny that you only opted for the compliment because you were about to call him your ex’s name, his own slipping your mind momentarily.    
  
“Good night, beautiful.” He responds in turn and you wonder whether he wanted to say a name that’s not yours, too.    
  
  


* * *

  
  
You wake up alone and with less of a headache than you thought you would have. Some advantage to the diluted drinks, you think.    
Your sheets are a mess and the warmth that another body in your bed would have left is long gone, but you’re tucked in and even your blinds are lowered halfway so you wouldn’t be disturbed by the morning sun.    
The pillow next to you smells faintly like lavender and a hair product you don’t recognize.    
  
Wrapping a blanket around you to shield your naked body from the cold, you roll out of bed to take a shower.    
  
You expected you would be falling apart right now.   
But… there is only an odd feeling of blankness in your heart. Like a space that’s been decluttered and has yet to receive a new purpose.    
You hope that is natural and a good thing.    
  
The shower you take is scalding and long and you wash away all traces of the previous night, slowly, and maybe that’s because you like smelling like passionate kisses and lavender.    
  
It becomes obvious that you can’t wash everything away soon enough, as you stand in front of the big mirror in your bathroom, ready to apply body lotion.    
  
Your ass indeed has large hand marks, fingers imprinted in the supple flesh. Your neck is also decorated with a few hickeys blossoming in an attractive purple. You don’t even remember when he left them there.    
Your pussy is pleasantly sore and your lips are still slightly swollen from last night.    
Despite the inner turmoil, you smile. 

  
You smile again when you reenter your bedroom to get dressed and tidy up a few minutes later.    
Because you see a white piece of paper on your nightstand:    
  
“I’m sorry I left before you woke up, that’s kind of a dick move, but I have work. I really enjoyed myself last night. If you want to let me make up for the dick move, though, just call me. Have a nice day, beautiful.   
  
Taehyung.”    
  
His phone number is written under his name, the digits, just like his characters, cutely rounded, so different than…    
  
You stop yourself, grabbing your phone, and creating a new contact.    
Taehyung. Handsome, boxy-grinned Taehyung.    
It makes you smile and you turn on your computer, placing that picture folder in your Recycle Bin and emptying the damn thing this time around. 


End file.
